


Treetops Glisten

by itsmylifekay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Slice of Life, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow falls thick and heavy outside the window. It blankets the ground and the houses along the street and shimmers in the dim evening light, throwing back color from twinkling Christmas lights and the occasional passing car. Wrapped in a blanket and sat by the fire, Bucky watches it fall, listens to the reporters on the television behind him talk about record snowfalls and winter weather advisories. The snow had started falling that morning and has hardly stopped since. There’s nearly a foot on the ground now and Bucky hasn’t seen Steve since the forecast came out the night before, hasn’t heard from him for hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treetops Glisten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witchbarnes (AzraelPhoenix)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=witchbarnes+%28AzraelPhoenix%29).



> Secret Santa gift for snowflakedbarnes on tumblr!

 

Snow falls thick and heavy outside the window. It blankets the ground and the houses along the street and shimmers in the dim evening light, throwing back color from twinkling Christmas lights and the occasional passing car. Wrapped in a blanket and sat by the fire, Bucky watches it fall, listens to the reporters on the television behind him talk about record snowfalls and winter weather advisories. The snow had started falling that morning and has hardly stopped since. There’s nearly a foot on the ground now and Bucky hasn’t seen Steve since the forecast came out the night before, hasn’t heard from him for hours.

Bucky bites his lip and hitches the blanket higher around his shoulders, glances at his phone from the corner of his eye and contemplates calling. Because Steve shouldn’t be out this late, shouldn’t be out for this long at once. But their city is relatively small and the sudden storm had been unexpected, meaning everyone who owns a plow has been out nearly all day, laying salt and sand and doing pass over pass on the snowy roads. He knows Steve took a break for lunch and dinner, has some snacks with him in the truck, but he still can’t help but worry.

The snow is gorgeous, white and thick and soft, sticking to everything it touches, but Bucky knows the danger behind all of that beauty. He knows there are people on the roads who shouldn’t be, other plow drivers like Steve who’ve been out all day, animals and hidden mailboxes, icy intersections and sudden blinding gusts of wind.

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

“Steve?” The receiver is pressed to his cheek in the blink of an eye, fingers tight on the plastic cover.

“Heya Buck,” Steve says, smile in his voice but obviously bone-tired. “You watching the weather by chance?”

Bucky glances back over his shoulder at the TV. “Yeah, I’ve got it on. We’re still in an advisory.”

“They’ll keep us in one until the temperatures go back up,” Steve yawns. “Can you tell by the radar if the front is about passed through?”

“You’re still driving?” Bucky asks, turning around completely to be more comfortable as he watches the screen. Usually Steve checks the radar on his phone, pulls into a parking lot somewhere and takes a break while snow gathers on his windshield.

“Yeah, got you on speaker. Have to make it to one more house before I get back on the main roads. Hoping it’ll be the last pass, looks like the snow’s letting up a bit but I wanted to be sure.”

There’s some news story on about school cancellations and sledding hazards, nothing remotely helpful, so Bucky gets up and shuffles over to their little desk in the corner, opens his laptop and pulls up the radar himself. The front is just about passed through, barest edge still overlapping their city. “Think you’re right, seems to be moving on.”

Steve gives an audible sigh of relief. “Good, anymore of this and I’d be worried for people trying to get out of their houses in the morning. It’s going to be hard enough to dig out some of our neighbors.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, you are going to come home and take a nap before you start any of that,” Bucky stares at his own stern reflection in the laptop screen. “Last thing I need is you running yourself into the ground over this. I’ve been shoveling our driveway and the sidewalks nearly every hour and Ms. Margeson’s got a path to her mailbox, pretty sure we’ve done our part.”

There’s a moment of stubborn silence on the line and Bucky knows the face Steve is making, slightly affronted but also sour in the knowledge that Bucky’s right and if he doesn’t sleep he’ll cause more problems than good. “Alright,” he finally says. “I’ll finish up this last drive and do a final pass on the way home. Should be about an hour and a half.” He gets quiet again and Bucky can picture the way his eyes flick out the windshield, the way his hands grip the wheel, callouses rasping quietly as it glides beneath his palms. “You should go to bed, I’ll tell you when I get home.”

“Not a chance,” Bucky sniffs. He stands and marches back to his chair, plops down and stares resolutely out the window. “Someone’s gotta make sure you shower and get something warm in you before you crawl into bed and pass out.”

Steve laughs, sound bright and beautiful if not a little frustratedly fond. “Charming, Buck.”

Bucky laughs with him for a moment and then they both go quiet, just the sound of their gentle breathing on the line. “Be safe, alright?”

“I always am.”

“I know,” Bucky presses the phone closer then sighs. “Well, call me if you need anything, otherwise I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Alright, see you soon.”

Bucky puts the phone back on the coffee table and wraps his arms around his legs, sets his chin on his knees and watches the falling snow, now noticeably lighter than it had been before. The news is still a low drone in the background but he tunes it out, focused on his silent vigil and thoughts of Steve driving out in the snow.

~*~

_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know._

Steve hums softly along to the music, hands sure on the wheel as he pulls into the last neighborhood, the last driveway. The console to his side glows softly in the darkened cab, ready and waiting. He lines up the plow and lowers it, having to plow out the end of the drive before he can clear the driveway itself. City drivers are on duty for twenty four hour shifts, plowing streets and neighborhoods and parking lots, trying to get the main thoroughfares cleared so life can continue on in the city. The consequence of their hectic work is often plowed-in drives and mailboxes, gouges in the ground and dirt pushed up into the snow. But Steve gets it, adjusts his own routine and clears the edge of the driveway without a fuss so he can do his own job.

It doesn’t take more than fifteen or so minutes for him to get the driveway done and he hops out into the cold without any fanfare. It’s the middle of the night, after all, and no one wants to be out in this kind of weather. Listening to the scrape of the shovel against the walk, he does his job quickly and gets back into the truck with just a bit of sweat starting to gather at his hairline. It’s below freezing outside but shoveling snow will keep anyone warm.

The truck beeps as he backs out of the driveway, the only sound in the silent night besides the crunch of his tires in the snow. Not a single light is on in the houses he passes. The only cars on the street now are plows like himself, trucks with individual rigs or large city dump trucks setup with plows and salt spreaders. It’s like being in his own personal snow globe, watching from behind cool glass as snow falls and coats the world in white. Everything is quiet, glistening, and magic.

Another truck passes him and their headlights cast new shadows in the snow, soft sound of a passing vehicle nearly muted by the blanketed ground. A sense of camaraderie tugs at him but he would still rather be home, curled up with Bucky on the couch with a movie on the TV and a pizza in their laps.

He doesn’t pull into their driveway until nearly four am, cutting the engine and shutting off the lights before hopping down to the pavement, thankful Bucky’s kept it clear as he trudges into the garage and steps up into the house.

 _“Welcome home”_ he hears, looks up and sees Bucky standing in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb but pulling away as soon as Steve meets his eyes, smiles and huffs out his own, “Hey there.”

It’s good to be home.

~*~

It was a challenge getting Steve to shower and eat and go to bed, like wrangling a petulant child only this stubborn toddler was over six feet of pure muscle, not to mention slightly cranky from lack of sleep but trying to pretend he wasn’t dead on his feet. It was endearing as it was frustrating and Bucky had to use nearly every trick up his sleeve to get the job done. But once Bucky had gotten him into bed he’d passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow, sleeping like a rock even when Bucky had rolled out of bed around noon. Unconventional sleeping schedules are just a part of winter for them, never knowing when Steve’s going to be sent out again, so they sleep when they feel like and spend as much time together as they can. So, Bucky’s not too surprised when Steve joins him in the kitchen around twelve thirty and immediately drapes himself over Bucky’s back.

“Sleep well?”

Steve pushes his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck and grumbles, “Bed was cold when you left.” Bucky huffs out a laugh and Steve kisses his shoulder, “But yeah, slept great when you were with me.”

“Sap,” Bucky smacks Steve on the arm and ducks out from under him to get the plates out of the cupboard, setting out the cups as well while the eggs and bacon sizzle on the stove.

They fall into an easy routine as Bucky finishes setting the table and Steve takes over the cooking, moving around each other in the tiny kitchen and brushing hands and lips whenever they get the chance. Breakfast is fairly uneventful, Steve’s hunger catching up with him anew, but Bucky enjoys it nonetheless, bare feet knocking together underneath the table and snow glistening outside the window. There’s no more falling from the sky and, according to the radar Bucky had checked earlier, they should be safe for the rest of the day.

They settle in front of the TV in a tangle of limbs and sleep-soft pajamas on the couch. Neither of them are small by any definition but they’ve learned how to arrange themselves without falling off, usually with Bucky draped on Steve’s chest and wedged between his thighs, one of Steve’s legs hanging off the side.

They’re halfway through their first show when Bucky rubs a thumb over Steve’s side and props his chin up on Steve’s chest. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve rolls his eyes and jostles Bucky slightly. “Stop worrying.”

“Not worrying,” Bucky hums, hand pushing further up Steve’s side and rucking Steve’s shirt up along the way. “It’s called being a good boyfriend.”

One of Steve’s eyebrows lifts and he gives Bucky a considering look, “Oh really, is that what it is? Because for a minute there you sounded an awful lot like my mothe-”

“Don’t,” Bucky cuts him off. “Don’t even think about it.” Steve opens his mouth to no doubt give some kind of snarky reply but Bucky slips his hand beneath Steve’s shirt, up over those delicious abs to palm directly at his left pec. Steve’s mouth shuts with a click. “Uh huh,” Bucky hums. “That’s what I thought.”

He leans down and nips at Steve’s lower lip, all tease and no follow through, riling him up until he feels more than hears the low, frustrated rumble that starts up in Steve’s chest. And that’s what he’s been waiting for, that’s what he wants right there… “Problem?” he asks, pulling back and grinning at Steve oh-so-innocently.

Except Steve’s not buying it, reaching up to get a hand behind Bucky’s head before forcing him down again, crushing their mouths together and biting at Bucky’s lips until they open, turning the kiss slick and dirty. There’s no finesse and even less patience, both of Steve’s hands threading into Bucky’s hair and gripping hard, pulling him closer and angling him how he wants him. Bucky lets out a whimper at a particularly hard tug then groans into Steve’s mouth, panting against the lips that have so thoroughly claimed his own. His cheeks burn where Steve’s beard has scraped them and he knows his lips are swollen and red as well. But he still wants more, lets out another whine until Steve brings them together again.

“You,” Steve breathes, voice low and rough and doing amazing things to Bucky’s already muddled brain. “You think you’re the only one who can tease?”

Bucky tries to pull against the hands in his hair but only succeeds in making Steve tighten his grip, forcing another groan from his mouth before he gives up the struggle. One of his hands is still trapped beneath Steve’s shirt and he uses that to his advantage, tugs at it until Steve’s entire stomach is exposed to the air. He swallows thickly and stares down at the line of hair disappearing into the waistband of Steve’s boxers, letting out a frustrated sound when Steve forces his head back up.

“Want something?” he asks, eyes dark and promising and oh god, Bucky wants _everything._ Anything he can get.

“Please,” he pants. “Please, want you so bad. Need you in me.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, untangles one hand from Bucky’s hair to cup the side of his face and trace his thumb over Bucky’s parted lips. “How badly do you want it?”

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky whines, squirming his hips so his erection pushes harder against Steve’s boxer-clad thigh. The other hand disappears from his hair and he almost whimpers at the loss but a groan comes out instead, punched out of him by the sudden sensation of fingers wrapped around him, not moving or stroking just _holding_ , warm and solid and Bucky can’t help the way his hips try to jolt forward into the touch.

“You’re going to undress for me,” Steve says, voice deep and honey-sweet, hypnotic in the way it makes Bucky’s eyes flutter closed and his pulse thump louder in his veins. “And then you’re going to prove how much you want it.”

His hands disappear from Bucky’s body in an instant and Bucky nearly falls forward at the loss of contact, having to breathe hard to reign himself in and get shakily to his feet. He shucks his shirt and boxers easily and stands naked at the side of the couch, thinking of any and every way he can prove himself, get Steve inside him that much faster. There’s an old blanket at the foot of the couch and he grabs that, throws it onto the floor on the other side of the coffee table then kneels at its center, dick hard between his thighs and chest heaving, staring at Steve with dark, pleading eyes.

Steve stands slowly, still clothed, and Bucky leans forward to reach underneath the coffee table, coming back with a bottle of lube that he places by his side. Steve eyes it carefully. “Planned ahead, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Wanted you so bad, Steve.”

Steve comes to stand in front of him and puts one hand in his hair, gets a good grip and pulls Bucky’s face back to meet his eyes. “Tell me.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “Last night, when you came in the door… _God,_ you’re gorgeous. And you’re mine, my perfect guy. Could be anyone else in the world and I wouldn’t want ‘em as much as I want you.” He licks his lips and Steve’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling a small sound from his throat before he makes himself continue. “Wanted your hands on me, wanted to feel how cold you were against my skin. Wanted to lick the sweat from your neck and have you fuck me into the mattress.”

The room is suddenly too hot and Bucky feels his chest flush, feels goosepimples break out across his body as Steve stares down at him with hunger clear in his eyes. His boxers and shirt disappear and then he’s sitting in front of Bucky, calloused hands gripping at his waist and pulling him into his lap, thighs on either side of his hips so Bucky’s straddling him. There’s a warm hand at the small of his back and another reaching for the lube. “You’re going to ride my fingers,” Steve says. “But you’re not allowed to touch yourself.” Bucky lets out a whine at that but Steve cuts him off. “You can only touch me, my neck, my face, my chest…” Bucky sucks in a breath and Steve smiles knowingly. “That’s right, Buck, want your greedy hands on me. Want to see you fall apart with my fingers in your ass and your hands on my chest, because you love it that much.”

“ _Steve_ ,” it comes out more strangled than anything and Bucky is sure his mind isn’t going to make it out of this, with the way it’s suddenly become too tight and hot and fuzzy at the edges.

There’s the sound of a bottle snapping open and shut and then cool fingers prod his entrance, one slick digit teasing at the rim before sliding partway in, making Bucky squirm and bite down on his lip. “C’mon, Buck. What’d I say? Gonna take what’s yours?”

It’s too much of a temptation for Bucky to resist and his hands reach out to trace up Steve’s sides to his chest, thumbs sweeping over both his nipples before stopping to pinch at them, rolling one between his fingers until he feels Steve’s finger sink all the way in, moving inside of him and making his toes curl. He pushes at one of Steve’s pecs and drops his forehead to Steve’s shoulder, panting into the warm space between them. “Fuck,” he moans, getting both his hands on Steve’s pecs and cupping them firmly, massaging them with his palms. His dick his heavy and throbbing between his legs and Steve’s up to two fingers in his ass, pumping in and out of him in a slow rhythm that Bucky tries to match.

“So needy, Buck,” Steve murmurs. “Barely have two fingers in you and you’re already like this. So slick and wet for me,” his fingers disappear for just a moment and when they push back in there’s a wet, sloppy sound. Bucky knows he’s added more lube, much more than they actually need, but the sound goes straight to Bucky’s dick and he moans wantonly into Steve’s shoulder, hips canting back to meet Steve’s hand.

_God, he’s so wet for it. Wants him so bad._

“Please, Steve, please,” he begs. “Want you so bad, want you in me. Please.”

A hand squeezes harshly at his left cheek, holds him open while Steve’s fingers thrust sharply into him. “I told you how you’re coming, Buck. We’ll see if you deserve to be fucked after that.” He turns his head to kiss at Bucky’s jaw until Bucky turns to meet him, coming together in a sloppy kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything. “Make yourself feel good,” Steve murmurs. “Know you want it, Buck, don’t have to be shy.”

Bucky breaks away from the kiss to bite at Steve’s shoulder, trying to get his breathing and thoughts back in order before this all ends too soon. But Steve doesn’t let him, uses the hand on his ass to bounce him up and then back down on his fingers, spreading him open and finally touching that spot inside of him that makes a groan fall from Bucky’s lips. His hands clutch at Steve’s chest and he hears an approving hum from above him. His thumbs sweep back and forth across Steve’s nipples, rubbing circles against them until they’re pebbled and hard, all for him. A third finger presses in and he pinches Steve in return, reveling in the sharp hiss it earns him. But then Steve’s pumping into him faster, thumb teasing at his rim after every few thrusts, and Bucky feels his thighs start to shake. An arm sneaks around his back and the hand that had been holding him open clamps down on his shoulder instead, forcing him down onto Steve’s lap while clever fingers worked him open, finding his prostate and teasing it mercilessly.

His spine arches and he groans into Steve’s shoulder, mouth open and shameless as he feels a tight ball of heat building up in his gut. “That’s it,” Steve praises, “So needy for it, aren’t you? Gonna come like this, Buck? Gonna show me how bad you want it?”

Bucky clenches his eyes shut and squirms in Steve’s hold, unable to help himself as he’s flooded with sensation that’s too much but at the same time not enough. His toes curl and his hand jerks, pushing against Steve’s pec so his nipple is trapped beneath his palm.

“C’mon,” Steve urges. “Come for me, let go.” His fingers pull nearly all the way out before pushing back in again, sounding wet and sloppy and obscene and Bucky groans to match it, pushes back against Steve’s hand and moans helplessly into his shoulder as his release paints Steve’s stomach and chest. The room fades away for a bit but when he comes back to himself Steve’s mouth is pressed to his temple, lips brushing against his skin with every word. “So perfect, Buck. God, you are so fucking perfect.”

He groans softly and picks his head up from Steve’s shoulder, feeling boneless and heavy but still not entirely sated. “If I’m so perfect,” he pants. “Why aren’t you in me?”

A glint flashes in Steve’s eyes and then he’s suddenly being lifted by the hips, guided until he feels something push at his hole and then brought down again. His eyes fly open and his thighs jerk, hands scrabbling at any part of Steve he can reach as he’s suddenly and unceremoniously impaled on Steve’s cock, his own mess still sticky between them. Steve bites back a groan then pushes one hand into Bucky’s hair, returning Bucky’s glassy-eyed stare with a knowing smirk, “That’s what I thought.”

It should be illegal to feel this good, honestly, and it should be doubly illegal for Steve to be so good at pushing all of Bucky’s buttons in exactly the right way. Yet here they are and somehow Bucky can’t find it in himself to complain, just grips tighter to Steve’s shoulders and holds on while Steve thrusts into him. One of Steve’s hands is helping guide Bucky’s hips but the other is still in his hair, keeping his head yanked back and his neck exposed, spine arched as he rides Steve like he’s wanted since last night. The slight discomfort is easily overruled by how fucking good it feels to have Steve inside him, all over him, thrusting into him exactly the way Bucky wants. Bucky’s hands slide down to Steve’s biceps and he rubs at the muscles there, panting up at the ceiling and groaning every time Steve hits his prostate, oversensitized and aching just a bit.

“Steve,” he breathes, swallowing thickly to try and find his voice. “Steve, please. Want you, want you in me.”

Steve’s hand tightens in his hair and an angry rumble slips from his teeth. “I _am_ in you.”

“No,” Bucky shakes his head as best he can with the death grip Steve’s got on his hair, tries to think past the little bolts of pleasure it brings. “No, want you to come in me. Want to feel you in me, please.”

Steve’s rhythm stutters and a strangled groan escapes his lips, drowned in Bucky’s shoulder a moment later as Steve leans forward, buries his face there for a moment before turning and sinking his teeth into the exposed column of Bucky’s neck. Wet heat coats Bucky to his very core and he slumps down against Steve’s chest, feels Steve relax around him as well. The hands gripping him like iron disappear and turn gentle instead, rubbing along his back before holding him close, guiding him off of Steve’s lap and into his arms instead, sprawled out on the blanket in a sweaty tangle of limbs.

Minutes pass and the TV is still on low in the background, Bucky’s heart rate slowly returning to normal while he lies half on top of Steve’s chest. “Well,” he finally sighs. “That was certainly something.”

Steve laughs softly and turns to press a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. “Yes, yes it was.” he lets out a contented sound then adds, “At least you had the decency to lay out a blanket this time.”

“Yeah well,” Bucky huffs, propping himself up on an elbow. “Didn’t want to risk rug burn if it meant receiving your kicked-puppy look every time you saw it.”

Steve pouts at him spectacularly.

Bucky shakes his head and makes a point of using Steve to stand, holding his hand out afterwards to help his sap of a boyfriend up as well. “Now let’s shower before all this dries,” he makes a slight face as he feels cum and lube slip down his thigh, reaches down and uses the blanket to wipe off the best he can, bunches up the fabric and throws it in the hamper on his way to their room. “And after,” he says over his shoulder, Steve close behind. “I was thinking grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch. With hot cocoa in front of a nice, warm fire.”

“And I suppose I’ll be bringing in all the wood?” Steve laughs easily. “And watching the fire while you get distracted with fifty other things?”

Bucky smiles at him, gives him a wink as he turns on the shower. “You know me so well.”

Steam fogs up the mirrors and the bathroom warms along with the water, the door shutting behind them with a near-silent click. Outside the snow is still glistening and the streets are still white-grey. Car tires crunch over the compressed snow and ice, and an errant gust of wind blows loose flakes from the ground, swirling them up into the piercing blue sky. The trees sway and creak under their new winter coats, a cardinal singing in the branches.

_May your days be merry and bright_

_And may all your Christmases be white._

  
  


 

 


End file.
